


testimonial

by orphan_account



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c., Real Person Fiction
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Porn With Plot, quid pro quo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 09:51:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11273058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Mr. Comey, if I fuck you, would you talk to your friend about the memos?”





	testimonial

It’s not an official meeting. Far from it, actually, because if anyone found out about this meeting, it would be… Well, simply put, it would be bad.

Nathan, the ever-excellent chief of staff he is, arranges the whole thing, going as far as getting in the car with Comey and driving him to her house in the dead of night.

“I’ll call you when we’re done,” Kamala tells him, watching him step aside as Comey ducks down and walks through the back door.

“I’ll be somewhere in the neighborhood,” Nathan promises. He slides the door closed and she draws the blinds over it.

And then it’s just her and Comey. He’s standing, arms folded in front of him, looking around with mild interest and slight discomfort.

He’s so tall. Fuck, it never really hit her how tall he was until just now. Damn. Being around Trump must have been awful if it made a huge guy like him uncomfortable. His shirt is as big as her wedding dress, probably, but Kamala doesn’t feel underdressed in her yoga pants and sweatshirt. If anything, he’s overdressed in that suit.

She clears her throat. “You can sit down, Mr. Comey.”

“Of course, Senator.” He takes a seat at the dining table and his legs bump up against the edges.

“Yeah, this isn’t made for tall people,” she says as she sits across from him.

“Not many people are this tall,” Comey replies.

“No, they’re not,” she agrees. And then, as she’d expected, there’s an awkward pause where they both look at the table while secretly sparing glances at the other when they think they’re not looking. And then she lets out a slow sigh and looks at him. “Mr. Comey, what are you doing here?”

“I believe Senators Burr and Warner should have told you,” he says, voice slow and deliberate, like he’s delivering testimony.

Kamala resists the urge to roll her eyes. “They’ve been trying to get you or your friend at Columbia to release the memos to our committee, but apparently, you’d only speak with me.”

“Yes,” Comey nods. “I believe you would understand why neither of us can deliver on that request.”

“Then you believed wrong,” Kamala snaps, “because it doesn’t make sense that neither of you can act upon our request. He hasn’t handed his memos over to anyone, and yes, he’s a private citizen, he can do what he wants - but you and I both know the American people have the right to know what was said between you and the President.” She pauses a moment, face set and stern and staring him down. “So, the question is, why won’t you ask him to send it to us?”

He doesn’t respond, not immediately. His gaze is focused in his lap, lips quivering slightly like he’s biting down on the inside, and there’s something to his demeanor that finally clues Kamala in.

“Oh my god,” she says, blinking rapidly, “are you _turned on_ right now?”

At that, Comey bristles, his face a little more red as he crosses one leg over the other. The table shakes when his foot hits the base and he flushes further. “I – well – I…” he stammers for a couple of seconds. “Well… it’s been a very stressful past few weeks.”

“I know, it’s been stressful for all of us.” Her voice is a little higher pitched, still in relative shock. She can’t stop thinking about what he’s just admitted.

“And you have a very lovely… well…” he looks over at her for a moment, then quickly looks away.

She wonders if he’s drunk. Or high. Or anything really because there’s no way this is happening. But, then again, this isn’t actually a bad outcome – here she has the former Director of the FBI at her kitchen table and, for whatever reason, he’s hard for her. And she needs something from him.

_Anything for the truth_ , Kamala thinks, and says aloud, “Mr. Comey, if I fuck you, would you talk to your friend about the memos?”

There’s a beat of silence where neither of them move and then, “Okay.”

_Jesus Christ, I can’t believe that worked_. “Okay,” she nods. “Okay...” She slowly gets to her feet and crosses her arms, looking down at him. It’s weird now seeing him from this angle, and his eyes are a little glossy when he looks back at her.

“Press your hands against the wall and lean back,” she instructs. “I’ll be right back.” She watches him move and quickly walks into her bedroom, rummaging through her bedside drawer until she finds what she needs. She tries not to think about it too much because if she does, then she’ll realize what she’s doing and that is the last fucking thing she wants to do right now.

She finds him right where she left him, right where she instructed, and oh fuck, she’s really doing this, isn’t she? Jesus Christ, the things she does for justice…

“You ready for this?” she asks.

Comey nods, eyes glanced down at the tiles as he lets out a steadying sigh. “Whenever you are, Senator.”

Briefly, Kamala wonders if she should ask if he’s ever done anything like this, but then she realizes that no, she really doesn’t want to know the answer. His belt comes off easily and she pulls his underwear down to the middle of his thigh. His legs shake, just a little, likely in anticipation.

She spends a couple of seconds making sure she has enough lube on her fingers before spreading out Comey’s legs and carefully pressing one of her fingers inside. His head falls and she thinks she can hear his breathing hitch.

“You like this, huh?’ she asks. When he doesn’t respond, she presses him again. “Don’t you?”

“I – I do,” he says, all of a sudden. His voice catches in his throat at the last syllable and he swallows audibly. “I do.”

“I thought so. It’s actually pretty obvious,” Kamala says. “You want someone else to take the reins, yeah? Someone else who can take over and take control.” She presses in her other finger and Comey cuts off his gasp before he can make any more noises. His legs are still shaking and, you know what, this is pretty cathartic. She’s actually getting into this.

“Yes,” Comey exhales, slowly, surely. “Yes, I… that’s what I… that’s what I want.” Her fingers curl around and spread, careful not to cause too much harm but careless enough that it plays along in the bizarre game they’re playing.

Because it is a game. Sort of. Whatever this is. She spreads her fingers, one of them massaging into his prostate, and she hears him choke back a gasp. “What do you want, Comey? Tell me what you want.”

“I – I want…” It’s hard to hear what he’s saying when it’s coming out mostly in sighs but he takes a couple of deep breaths and manages to find his words. “I want you… to fuck me.”

“Say it properly, then.” She’s not sure if he moans because of the instructions or because she’s removing her fingers out from his ass but either way, it seems to work.

“Senator,” he says, as though it’s a real effort to push out the words, “would you… _please_ … fuck me?”

The corners of Kamala’s mouth quirk and she says, “All you had to do was ask.” She grabs the vibrator – well, more of a glorified dildo since she can’t find any batteries for it – and slides on the condom. She’s not sure whether she should warn him or not, but she sees his arms shaking and the flush spreading down the back of his neck and she doesn’t warn him when she starts to slide it in.

He does gasp this time and his hands almost fall off the wall until he grabs on tighter, skin turning white as the intrusion presses in further. “Oh,” he says, quietly. “ _Oh_ …”

“You’re so tight,” she notes, her tone almost off-handed as she slowly moves it out, then pushes it back in. “Like your uptight nature has translated itself into sexual frustration, huh?” She doesn’t expect him to respond, not as his legs spread and she can see something distinct drip down on her tiles. She’s going to have to clean that up later.

_Fuck, don’t think about that right now._ She shakes her head and clears her throat. “Or, maybe, it’s just a reminder that despite your moral rectitude or the nonpartisan high ground you try to maintain, you’re just human. You’re subject to the same base desires we are.”

_Editorialization isn’t sexy, Kamala._ She lets out a sigh. “You want me to fuck you harder, Comey?”

“Yes,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, please.”

“Okay.” She adds in a little more lube and it’s not long until she’s got a proper rhythm, sliding in and out of his ass as he slowly loosens up, starts moaning a little more, bucks up against the dildo and starts letting himself be fucked.

She angles it so it hits his prostate and his mouth hangs open in a silent sigh as his dick leaks even more. One of his hands comes off the wall and starts moving to relieve himself, and then Kamala has a genius idea.

She swats it away.

Comey stops moving. His mouth closes and she thinks he’s blinking the haze from his eyes as he turns his head to look at her.

“No,” she says. “No, you’re not going to jerk off. Not yet.” She slowly pulls the dildo out and sets it aside, tossing the condom in the direction of the trash can. “You know why?”

He shakes his head, lips slightly parted and flushed with arousal. “Why?” he asks.

“Because I don’t know if your friend is really going to give us the memos,” she answers. “And after all of this, all that I’m doing for you, I think I deserve a little something definitive in return, don’t you?”

There’s a slight pause while the words pierce whatever headspace Comey is in, and then he nods. “Yes… yes, I think you do.”

The next few seconds are a bit of a blur, but the next thing Kamala knows, she’s pressed up against the wall with her legs over his shoulders and his head between her thighs. And fuck if this man isn’t good at eating pussy.

His mouth is like fucking silver, licking up around her labia and flicking at her clit and letting her cum slide a little down his chin as he keeps working. His hands are tight around her waist and her hands are tight around his head and she leans back with a soft sigh.

“Oh fuck,” she says. “This is good. You’re doing such a good job.”

She can feel his moan, feel his fingers dig into her sides and knead a little at her ass, and his tongue starts to fuck her cunt. She thinks she’s going to come. But before then…

“You can touch yourself,” she tells him. “It’s okay now. You’re doing a great job.” She thinks he could do both at once – eat her out and jerk himself off. She’s keeping her balance against the wall with the pressure of him pressed up against her and her legs are hanging in the air because even though he’s hunched over a little, he’s still so fucking tall and if she thinks about this for too long, she thinks she might lose it.

One of her shoes falls off and hits the ground with a dull slap and she’s biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing when she finally does come. Comey swallows her down and moans right into her when he spills all over the linoleum tiles.

They don’t make much eye contact while they’re dressing themselves and, thankfully, Nathan arrives in just a few minutes to pick Comey up. He’s just about to open the sliding doors and head out, but turns around at the last second. “Senator Harris?”

“Yes?”

He pauses, mouth open as he considers his words. “If you’re able to pass on this message for me,” he says, “then please tell Bob Mueller that I wish him the best of luck.”

“I will,” she says. Her voice is soft and she hopes he knows she means what she says.

“Thank you,” he replies, and then he’s opening the door and then he’s gone.

Nathan looks at him, then back at her with an expression that clearly says they’re going to discuss whatever happened during this improper and impromptu meeting, before he closes the door and rushes to follow Comey.

Kamala lets out a sigh and ties her hair up again. She stares down at the wall – where she just fucked the former Director of the FBI – and then goes to find the broom closet. One of those Swifter Wet Jets or something will surely remove the cum stains from her floor.

Otherwise, it’s an excuse to redecorate.


End file.
